


The Weed that Blocked out my Sun

by Smile_More



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Animal Metaphors, Beer, Bruises, Cigarettes, Cigars, Extended Metaphors, Flowers, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Metaphors, Nature, Schizophrenia, Suicide Attempt, knifes, zoomorphism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smile_More/pseuds/Smile_More
Summary: A vindictive weed grew over her, bigger and stronger than ever, blocking out the sun and there was only one escape.
Kudos: 1





	The Weed that Blocked out my Sun

I stared softly at my reflection in the window, iris bruises blooming on my face, and a split-lip causing a gentle seeping of rose-red and my sunflower hair rooting from my scalp and tumbling down in front of my green chrysanthemum eyes, which were diverted by a crunching coming from another room.

I tediously stalked into the room, hearing him crunching cans in masked exasperation. I leant on the table waiting for him to finish but instead, as quick as one beat of a hummingbird's wing, a knife was stuck into the table in between my fingers as if we were playing pinfinger. My heart wilted as a corrupt smile borne on his face.

I grimaced back as I lifted my hand, grime highlighted the creases of my palm. I identified a grey hue that filtered the flat (where black seeped from the ceiling and the only window was smashed by the most recent incident). Beer bottles and cans were scattered about like weeds and cigarette ash grew on every surface like moss.

‘I need a drink’ he barked and I bumbled across the kitchen in a desperate attempt to please him but clumsily groped the cans. I wrapped my fingers around one but my shaking hands wouldn't grip it and for less than a second it was suspended; not touching anything, until it hit the floor. He lifted from his chair a forest of wrinkles forming on his brow as he snarled and approached me. ‘You clumsy screw-up’ he slurred, his words barely legible. His fists clenched and I flinched away but it was too late, a familiar pain pulsated through my nerves and ran across my cheek

I sunk to the ground, defeated, clasping my poppy cheek. I took myself away by looking out the window, the grey clouds covering any possible glimpse of the night sky. He lit a cigarette the grey smoke rising up and filling the apartment; it’s only escape being the hole in the smashed window. A weed was growing over me, bigger and stronger, blocking out the sun and there was no escape.

I looked through the window, seeing my reflection once again, the iris bruises germinating on my face and forget-me-not tears spilling from my chrysanthemum green eyes. At that moment, I grew angry, I had a life before this… a life that’s now gone because of him. I journeyed towards him, realistically it was only a few feet but, in my mind, I had crossed the country. As the final wave of fury and deluded confidence surged up my spine I pushed him back and I felt victorious. But then the confidence disappeared from beneath me leaving me to fend for myself as he rumbled and snapped like a woken pitbull, I knew, his bite was worse than his bark. I remembered the smoke, and the only way out… I clambered onto the ledge; the white of the window frame reminded me of the roses he brought me at the beginning, but now it was the end, and things were different. With a few seconds of held breath, a few minutes of break-loose actions and years of pent up pain, I let go.

For less than a second, I was free, nothing touched me. That is until I hit the ground.

My eyelids lifted slowly, fatigued from years of sleepless nights. I was bombarded with questions and I answered all I could, pouring my life story into their glass of empty knowledge, how I had been disowned and thrown out and all about the man who ruined my life.

They brought a couple in, both distraught and as they spoke to them, I pressed my ear against the door and heard a familiar voice say:  
‘Lily ran away when she was 16’.

Less than a day later, I sat in a room, my grey skin and clothing not fitting in with the white scene. A lady with chocolate cosmos hair pulled back into a bun spoke words to me, that were physically clear, no slurring or undermining menace and what she said was  
unmistakable, but I still didn’t understand the words that were about to come out of her hibiscus lips.  
‘Lily, you live alone. You have schizophrenia.’


End file.
